On loving someone who is not good for you

I am surrounded. Surrounded by outpouring love. Surrounded by uninitiated text messages. Surrounded by requests for my company. Here, I am lying in a pile of open hearts, warm hands, toasty breezes, respectful yet affectionate laughter. I am cloaked in the glamorous novelty of accomplishment and relief. One year ago I would have given anything for the life I have, but now, as everything I so desperately craved for sits in my palm, I shiver and stare out into the distance. I don’t understand why I scroll past all the names of the others, each name a bold testament of the people who give a shit, frantically searching for a passageway into a dark pool of fake smiles and pathological lies.

Why am I unable to simply drop you back on the road, like a speck of dust on my otherwise impeccable suit? I push away the dull, hollow ache as I allow the words of comfort to slip from under my tongue, unexpected words of wisdom sliding into the ears of the people who are not like you, the people who value my time, their faces beaming with gratitude, they sigh in relief as I offer them the empathy and experience I would not be able to offer before I met you. I sit here, embraced by the soft cotton bundle of mutual appreciation, and yet somehow desire chills me to the bone, a mad craving for the flimsy adoration on your lips that never seems to make its way to your eyes.

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